


You're the Bright Full Moon to my Stars (& Other Tacky Metaphors)

by agent_izhyper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cursed Derek, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Metaphors, an overabundance of metaphors actually, nice!derek, vaguely cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/pseuds/agent_izhyper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"No, you don't understand. You're a ray of sunshine and I am as black as the clothes I wear."</em><br/>"...did you honestly just say that, oh my God."</p><p> </p><p>or</p><p>The one in which Derek gets cursed to shower whoever's in his vicinity (i.e. Stiles) with praise... using only metaphors. The cornier, the better, right? (Wrong.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the Bright Full Moon to my Stars (& Other Tacky Metaphors)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamremy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/gifts).



> Early happy 18th birthday to the super awesome and perfect RemyMcKwakker *throws confetti and streamers* HAVE THE BEST DAY EVER BRO, YOU DESERVE IT :3 This fic was a prompt from her. She drew a thing (super super cute sterek drawing which i shall put up as soon as i have access to a laptop instead of my tab *'splodes and dies all over again from the adorableness*) and gave me these two lines of dialogue:  
> "No, you don't understand. You're a ray of sunshine and I am as black as the clothes I wear."  
> "...did you honestly just say that, oh my God."
> 
> And... Yeah, I basically just went crazy with them.. xD Hey, it's like, justifiable crack! Too good to pass up. *grins* *pats Derek on the head and then flees*
> 
> SO YEAH HOPE YOU LOVE IT :D
> 
>  ****  
> Warning: I will not be held responsible for any and all painful facepalms and/or brains dying on you after reading the horrible tackiness that is the mix of metaphors filling this fic. Here's fair warning. Maybe you should have a sturdy surface near you to drop your head on and groan loudly at the more corny lines.

 

* * *

 

"Is this actually happening. Scott, pinch me, I'm totally dreaming."

 

"Dude, you're getting the biggest kick out of this, are't you?"

 

Stiles flaps a hand at him to shut up and inches closer to his furiously-scowling boyfriend. (They were in mild disagreement over the tackiness of that term. Stiles only won because the one time he was glared at fiercely before he could use it, he had reverted to things like "and this is my sweetums" or "honeybear" and the list was endless. He won out in the end. _Boyfriend_ is at least less cringe worthy.)

 

Now here's the thing about Derek Hale: his default expression is a broody one. Of course, with a face like that he can pull off the doom-and-gloom angry eyebrows in a way that still makes him ridiculously good-looking, but... _But._ His brooding's always within reason.

 

And Stiles is so not in agreement that the current situation requires any level of sulking (shut up, it totally is a sulky face) because this is just too good.

 

"See, Sourwolf," he grins at Derek, who's got his lips pulled together in an angry pout. "This is what happens when you don't play nice with the perfectly friendly neighbourhood witch. Antagonising her was _not_ in the plans." He can't quite stay serious enough, though; his lips keep twitching at the way that Derek is obviously holding back whatever he's about to blurt out next.

 

Behind him, Scott turns a snicker into a cough when Derek flashes blue eyes at him in a wordless snarl. "I, uh, I'm gonna let the others know it's all good on the witch front," he says, inching away.

 

Stiles waves him off. "Alright, you do that. I think I'll grab some things from home and stay at Derek's till this wears off in case he implodes and takes down his place in frustration."

 

Derek, for all he's clearly trying, can't seem to hold back anymore. "You should. Your presence is the light to my crumbling unlit candle." His mouth snaps shut and he huffs, eyebrows pulled down furiously.

 

Stiles is about one second away from falling to the floor in a mess of hysterical laughter and only the bright pink of Derek's ears stops him. He settles for a wide grin instead and tugs Derek along by hand to his jeep. "C'mon, Romeo, let's get you far away from the public before you give someone a complex."

 

Figures. Derek _would_ get cursed into freaking complimenting people with strange and tacky metaphors. At least it's harmless.

 

...And, c'mon, downright hilarious at best.

 

* * *

 

Stiles may be rethinking his plan. He cannot do this. Derek's gonna go back to his snarling 'I'll bite your head off' ways and kick him out (wordlessly, if he can help it) because Stiles _can't help being amused by this,_ okay? It's just. For every sentence Derek utters against his will, he looks like part of his soul shrivels up and dies with it. Which is so in contrast to the sweet words he's saying, it's just...

 

No one should have to sit through an entire evening of Derek freaking Hale telling them things like their eyes are "golden gems struck by the brightest moonlight" all while looking like he's in excrutiating pain.

 

"Would it be better if I turned these back on you?" Stiles muses after he's done imitating a bright tomato when Derek had seemed to have a spurt of inspiration and had compiled a list of metaphors about the attractiveness of, like, every aspect of Stiles' face.

 

(He thinks he's got enough ego boosting from the past half an hour than he's had his whole life. It's unnerving.)

 

"Because I can totally wax poetical on those eyebrows, dude, don't think I can't." Stiles smirks at Derek's narrow-eyed glare.

 

"I've never doubted your abilities, they-" he starts, so, so, solemn, and not even scowling this time. Stiles doesn't let him finish, just chuckles and sidles up to his side on the couch, leaning in for a quick kiss.

 

"I know, I know," he jokes, one hand sliding up to rake through Derek's thick hair. "My smarts are as undeniable as your ridiculousy adorable bunny teeth." He aims for an innocent smile but probably lands way off mark as Derek rolls his eyes in a silent _yeah, of course._  

 

He decides to put the poor guy out of his misery for a while and moves on to making out on the couch because assuring Derek's mouth is otherwise occupied (doing _impossible and totally should-be-illegal_ things, oh my god) seems to be the only way to hold back the onslaught of metaphors.

 

Okay, and also because it's just plain awesome.

 

Still, Stiles doesn't imagine the grateful look in his eyes when they finally part for breath. Even if it does only last a couple of seconds before Derek blurts out, "Your moles are beautiful constellations and I want to trace them out all the time."

 

 _"Oh_ my god," Stiles manages to say (and if his voice goes up an octave or two then no-one cares enough to pay attention) weakly as Derek screws his eyes shut and ducks his face into Stiles' collarbone. Under the pretense of scenting him, maybe, but Stiles can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks, pinkened underneath the stubble.

 

This may be getting a little bit out of hand.

 

* * *

 

The spell doesn't wear off over the next two days. Over the course of this time, Stiles has received compliments on everything ranging from his nose to his freaking hands. He hasn't been this self-conscious in a good way ever in his whole life. It would be overwhelming, if it isn't also completely tacky and (don't tell Derek) adorable.

 

Stiles is getting suspicious, though. He clearly remembers the young witch (Noah) promising that the curse will wear off by itself in a couple of days, but he can't help but muse that if anything it's getting stronger.

 

This assumption is made based on his firm belief that if something odd happens multiple times (as in, more than twice) then it's safe to say that something is most definitely off about the situation.

 

And - _yes,_ he is very well aware that one can argue that the whole shindig with Derek handing out compliments left, right and centre is what's off but it's _more_ than that.

 

Because, and this is the worrying bit, _Derek seems to be getting into it._

 

Exhibit one: this morning, when Stiles had stumbled into a seat at the table for breakfast, sleepily watching his boyfriend move around the kitchen, Derek had glanced over with a smile and said - without it seeming as if the words were being pulled out of his mouth using jagged and rusty pliers (too gory imagery for the morning, brain, what is _wrong_ with you) - "Seeing your face in the morning is better than the first ray of sunlight breaking through thunderclouds."

 

Stiles had blinked at him blankly, thought vageuly that it's too early for this shit, and mumbled, "You- okay. I don't think that makes sense."

 

And Derek had the nerve to pull his insulted eyebrows together in a frown.

 

_What._

 

Exibit two: rambling about the recent shenanigans of Scott and Isaac and why they're a danger to society while doing the dishes from lunch (it's almost scary how relatively normal this domesticity feels but then his life _is_ overrun with werewolves, so.) Stiles had come to a stuttering halt when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind and he automatically leaned back into the familiar sturdy chest. Derek's breath had fanned over his neck and he'd muttered, "Keep talking. It's music to my ears." without sounding like he even _tried_ to hold that back.

 

Stiles had to chuckle. That was pretty damn tame compared to the others.

 

Exhibit three: right now. Nearing midnight, and they lay curled up in bed - well, Derek's bed, which Stiles had commandeered the right half of during his stay; not that sides matter when your werewolf boyfriend insists on scent-marking everything about you.

 

But tangents aside. Wrapped around each other in a mess of tangled limbs and lazy kisses. Stiles sighs, content, as he traces lightly over the triskelion tattoo, and grins over at Derek. "You're really something, you know that?"

 

Derek blinks at him, seeming oddly open in the dimness of the room - or maybe just in Stiles' head, what with the spell having removed any layers from his surface, the ones that still keep him closed off and visibly tense even when they're together. The last few days though... True, it's been amusing but more than that, Stiles can't help but think of what a Derek with all his defences down would be like. A Derek who gives his smiles freely, who comments on things he likes - maybe not to the extent where he sounds like he's writing a goddamn _poem_ composed entirely of metaphors, but...

 

"What?" he asks softly after a few moments of mutual staring. He tracks the movement of Derek's lips as the corners tick upwards, preparing expectantly for a barrage of corny lines.

 

"You're an explosion of..." It's the first time since the curse happened that he's heard Derek trail off in the middle of a sentence, actually huff in what might be amusement before continuing, "amazing things."

 

"I'm..." Stiles has to stop and stare then, lips moving soundlessly before he lets loose a short laugh, dropping his forehead to rest on Derek's chest. "So you've said. In a number of ways. Have you run out or something? 'Amazing things', Derek, _really?"_  

 

He feels fingers running through his hair, tugging at it lightly until Stiles lifts his head obligingly to grin at the very solemn expression on Derek's face. Solemn with a hint of frustration, like he's trying to say something but can't get the right words out. Stiles might just get it; he's heard possibly every amalgamation of metaphoric descriptions of himself in the past three days and, however flattering (seriously, he thinks he might miss complaints about his more annoying traits, which just, _yeah,_ what the hell), aren't exactly... their thing. Which maybe doesn't make sense, but whatever. Since when did anything about Stiles and Derek make sense, anyway?

 

"No, you don't understand," Derek says, verging on a growl. Stiles opens his mouth in surprise, but the next comment shuts him up straight away. "You're a ray of sunshine and I am as black as the clothes I wear."

 

"...did you honestly just say that, oh my god."

 

And cue the next ten minutes being filled with nothing but Stiles' loud laughter, almost verging on cackling, and Derek's very loud angry pouts.

 

"I'm- sorry, oh my god, I'm sorry," Stiles gasps between trying to catch his breath and choking back the next bout of helpless giggles. "I just. You. I _can't."_

 

Derek keeps his mouth firmly shut but his glares and pointedly sharp scowl are a very clear sign of, 'Shut up, asshole.' Stiles makes an effort to quit laughing, though he can't quite wipe off the wide grin, keeping it up until Derek's scowl eases and his lips reluctantly twitch.

 

After a statement like that, who the hell needs dramatic declarations of love in their life anyway?

 

"...wait. Was that a simile? Is this thing expanding to similes too?!"

 

* * *

 

It'll be fitting to the dramatic irony that is their life to say that the spell wearing out happens anticlimactically. 

 

(Stiles has grown to expect the unexpected, okay?)

 

As is, though, going on the fifth day, nothing seems any different. Except for the fact that it seems to have increased in tackiness because - like Stiles had noticed the other night - it's expanded to similes as well.

 

But then... Well, it backfires? This is what happens:

 

Stiles won't say that he's getting _bored,_ per se. It's just that he's gotten much too accustomed to having constant excitement in his life. Of course, it could be argued that he doesn't _have_ to stay with Derek until the spell wears off, but that's just too much of a dick-ish move to even consider, so he's not going to do that. He does go out, though, to buy food and stock up on things because Derek is secretly twelve and doesn't understand the basic function of buying more than the bare necessities so they tend to run out quickly. 

 

Today, however, Stiles has no reason to venture outside and he's already restocked all the cupboards in the kitchen so they resemble at least a bit of order. He may or may not be sprawled out on the couch moaning about there being nothing to do and the fact that Derek _really_ needs to get a TV and entertainment system ASAP because the guy cannot seriously live off of books and exercise. (Even if it is... interesting to watch him. To put it one way.)

 

But, well. Derek must be as sick of being cooped up as he is, maybe even more. He's been silent almost the whole day, but then he just... tosses his book down, glares across at Stiles (who gapes at him), and snaps.

 

"You're like a dripping tap sometimes, you know that?"

 

"I... _What."_

 

"I can hear you but can't turn you off." Derek's sporting his annoyed eyebrows, lips pressed into a hard line.

 

Stiles' first instinct, of course, is insult. He sits up, ready to deliver a stinging remark back, when Derek's words actually hit him and he freezes.

 

Derek stares at him, irritated but now bemused as well. "What," he growls, crossing his arms.

 

Stiles can't be blamed for the surprised burst of laughter that escapes him. "Dude! _Derek!_ You just insulted me!" 

 

It takes a moment for the confusion to fade and hopeful realisation to settle in. Derek opens his mouth but he hesitates before speaking, shutting it again after a silent moment. Stiles shakes his head with a grin and bounds off the couch towards him, pulling him   up and then spreading his arms wide. "C'mon, take your pick. Being an asshole is my charm. Is a _dripping tap_ the best you can do?" he teases.

The challenge, of course, is what makes Derek narrow his eyes and snipe back, "No, but listening to you whine all day is worse than the time you screwed up the settings on my car radio, excuse me for not coming up with an insult that's up to your standards."

Stiles doesn't know if Derek's not paying attention to what's coming out of his mouth or what, but he can't help but burst out laughing. Ignoring the flash of surprise on Derek's face, Stiles leaps on him and smacks a happy kiss onto his mouth, likely grinning like a loon but really not giving a damn.

"Sweet-talk me, buttercup," he snickers, arms wrapped around the werewolf's neck as Derek's slide automatically around his waist.

Derek does a perfunctory growl at the pet name but he can't hide the fact that he's grinning - small, but it's there. "Think you've had enough _sweet-talking_ to last a lifetime," he retorts, cocking an eyebrow.

Stiles pouts at him. "C'mon, lovemuffin. I'm the bright full moon to your dimly-lit stars, right?"

"Oh my god, _Stiles,_ shut up."

He smirks. "Make me." 

It's the corniest, most cliché line ever. He thinks it's perfectly fitting, considering their circumstance. If Derek's reluctant laugh is any indicator, he agrees. Stiles doesn't get the chance to find out; the nearly-bruising force of the next kiss does its job in short-circuiting his brain.

(Well played, Derek. Well played.)

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> aaannnd that's it. *flourishes hands* Hope no one died too badly, but I wouldn't blame you. Seriously. I was cringing while writing these. I tried googling up some lines but they literally made me want to curl up and die from embarrassment so yeah, stuck with these instead. :P NOW EVERYONE GO WISH REMY A HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND ALSO CHECK OUT HER PAGE AND ALSO FOLLOW HER ON TUMBLR, she's joeremy-renner. (While you're at it, I absolutely love comments and if you follow me I might follow back ;) I'm [deathby-stiles](http://deathby-stiles.tumblr.com). Oh yeah. *fistbump*)


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